In The Dirt

 

It grows there,

in the yard,

tendrilled roots,

twisting through

the soft Spring

dirt.

 

The weeds,

the grass,

the trees,

the bees,

the worms,

in the dirt.

 

Sunlight dappled,

burgeoning turf,

seeking out the

best sunbeams

to rise up towards,

to live in the dirt.

 

The twisted and

gnarled knots of

weedy invaders,

slowed in Winter,

defrosted in the veld grasses,

to conquer the dirt.

 

The battleground,

siege will be the order,

relentless tides of invading

greenery, hell-bent on life,

defeat simply not an option,

for those in the dirt.

 

Those that grow there,

those that go there,

are in the thick of it now;

a slow battle of nature,

unfolding relentlessly,

in the dirt.